


Promises Made, Promises Broken

by GoldenPaca



Series: a room full of vampires (arfov) [1]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hybrids, Kinda, Non-Traditional Vampire Mechanics, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenPaca/pseuds/GoldenPaca
Summary: Cleo knew, as soon as she saw the fire in his eyes, that she had to keep him safe at all costs. Her plan for escape was foolproof, it should have worked.Unfortunately, she never considered herself to be in favor with fate.
Relationships: impulseSV & ZombieCleo
Series: a room full of vampires (arfov) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104158
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Promises Made, Promises Broken

**Author's Note:**

> TW for mentions of blood.

The woods start whizzing past them as they run, the sounds of screaming quickly fading behind them. There’s a small pack of them huddled together, moving as one unit quickly, Cleo leading them as they swerve through the trees. There are shouts and howls all around, a weird but terrifying myriad of clopping hooves, flapping wings, and feral growls echoing them, surrounding them in a cage of fear.

Impulse is right behind her, clutching her arm as he tries to catch up with her. Him being fed on before their escape almost made her want to postpone the plans. She didn’t want to risk him being a liability as they leave, but also knew that leaving anyone behind would be sentencing them to death. She didn’t want that to happen to anyone, but especially not Impulse. This was the guy she took in when he was still wide-eyed and scared, who had bravely wanted to save his village by foolishly volunteering to be a bloodbag. She thought of him as an annoying little brother, as she did with all the other trembling humans that belonged to the clan. Something about Impulse however made their bond closer than most. Perhaps it was the fact that despite his eyes turning glassier as the light within them ebbed and flowed, the fire of hope continued to burn in his body. He was just like her in that regard, headstrong and, as his name suggests, impulsive. He did all he could to make sure his village was safe, actively doing something about his situation, unlike the others who quickly succumbed to their anguish, being nothing more than dolls for the clan to hurt. She quietly promised herself to keep that fire burning, fanning it with baseless stories of hope when it threatened to be put out. She’d do anything to protect Impulse because someone had to leave this clan headstrong.

A shriek suddenly comes from behind the group, and she whips her head around just in time to see one of the lagging members of their troupe get dragged by a clawed figure into the shadows of the trees. Another cries out as they’re picked off the ground from a human-bird hybrid, being carried high into the leaves. They’ve been found.

“Split up and run!” she shouts, keeping her voice firm even as her blood runs cold. Everything’s gone downhill, much quicker than she anticipated and hoped for. She yanks on Impulse’s arm, throwing him in front of her as the rest of the bloodbags scatter, running off in different directions to throw their pursuers off their trails. She spots a particularly sharp-looking stick and picks it up, using it to injure a humanoid looking vampire that foolishly tried to lunge at her.

“Set the pace!” she calls out to Impulse who staggers to his feet, dodging a vampire that quickly found herself impaled through the heart by Cleo. “I’ll be right behind you!” Impulse replies by running faster, stumbling along as he tries to move between trees and foes alike. Each time someone would come running at him, he forces himself to duck and dodge, and soon he and Cleo find a pattern of attack, with Impulse leading the way and Cleo keeping them safe and attacking anyone that tries to harm them.

Cleo knows she could be going faster, knows she could be much safer if she leads the way but the way Impulse had clutched onto her arm before they were ambushed made her realize just how weak he was, how weak they all were. Bloodbags were usually the strongest and healthiest members of their human villages, but being drunk from and being abused takes a heavy toll on human bodies. Cleo was fortunate enough to have been able to keep shape even in captivity; having entered the clan before the currently inhumane leaders made it so that she was given a lot more leniency from the friendlier vampires. Impulse was already relatively frailer than he’d been when he first became a bloodbag, and the fact that he was fed on just a few hours prior meant he still was yet to recover the red blood cells he needed. If she were to lead, there was a high chance he could be left behind, and there is no way she was going to let that happen. She made a promise to protect Impulse in any way she can, and she was willing to risk many things to make sure that goes fulfilled.

That, it turns out, is to be her biggest mistake.

Impulse is slowing down, definitely feeling the fatigue that came with too much exertion while anemic. His breathing is heavier, leaning up against a tree for support. He doesn’t see the snarling shadow barrelling towards him, but Cleo does. He doesn’t move, too tired, too nauseous to do anything, but Cleo does. Cleo rushes forward, raising her stick as if it was a sword, and let her body move in front of Impulse. She feels the vampire run into her head on, the impact throwing her off her feet and knocking all the air out of her lungs. She hits the forest floor with a wheeze, narrowly avoiding bashing her head open on a rock. Impulse, shocked, falls on his butt as the frenzied vampire pounces on top of Cleo, keeping her in place.

“Run Impulse!” she shouts, struggling to free one of her hands to raise her makeshift weapon. It was still nearby and if she can just reach it, she might be able to survive. Impulse, however, would not, and that meant he needed to go. “Head south, someone must be-“ She’s cut off by a gasp quickly followed by a shrill scream she belatedly realizes is hers. Burning pain blooms along her stomach, accented by the warm blood flowing from a wound she doesn’t know the source of. She looks up at her captor, sees unfocused and glazed over eyes trailing up and down her body and she follows her gaze to where her own stick was lodged in her abdomen. The vampire lets out a feral growl, canine-like ears flopping down the sides of her head, and she rips the stick out of Cleo, prompting another pained gasp.

“Go!” she screams when she sees Impulse staring in fear, and she sees hesitation flit over his face before he gets up and runs back into the woods, hopefully aided by adrenaline to help him go faster. Cleo’s happy he’s ran, even if part of her aches at the thought of being left behind. The vampire leans down and starts lapping at the wound, eagerly drinking away while Cleo’s left squirming and crying, pleading for her to stop. She knows this vampire, knows that she was kind to her before, knows that she wouldn’t listen to her pleas while she feeds in a frenzy. Still, she whimpers and gasps, trying to thwart the cold creeping up her arms and the thoughts of ‘I’m going to die here, oh my god I’m going to die here.’

Her attacker pulls back, mouth twisted in a snarl made all the more intimidating by the blood around her mouth, staining her teeth red and dripping down her chin. That’s Cleo’s blood, a lot of it, and while she hopes that her old acquaintance would be done with her, she knows from the look in her eyes that was far from true. She is proven right when the canine-hybrid dives for her legs, teeth latching on to the flesh around her thighs, the pain making her let out a sob. Her arms are no longer apprehended yet she has no strength to move them beyond weakly punching at her attacker’s back, the action comparable to swatting a fly.

As her voice dies down so does the noise in the quiet, until all she can hear is her laboured breathing and the telltale wet, squelching noises of blood being sucked up. A sudden pang of pain bursts from where the vampire continues to feed, and black spots fill her vision even as she’s too tired to even cry out. Fire seems to course through her veins, branching out from her wound and she surprises herself by squirming, panting as all her senses tell her to move away from the pain. The vampire responds in kind by squeezing her legs tighter, letting up to growl softly before going back to her meal. So enraptured was she in the pooling liquid that she failed to notice a shadow approaching them, the steps quick and quiet. Cleo, despite the heaviness of her eyelids, notices and she can only watch as Impulse sneaks up behind the frenzied vampire and drives a makeshift stake through her heart, the vampire letting out a shriek before she falls over Cleo’s body, the human’s blood still running down her body.

Impulse makes quick work of the vampire’s body, hauling it off to the side so he can prop Cleo up against the trunk of a tree, assessing the damage done. Cleo can imagine that she looks like a wreck with a gaping hole in her stomach and blood running down her thighs, her fiery orange hair made darker by the sticky patches of maroon in the bottom. Impulse frowns, lips trembling and eyes welling up with tears as he makes a move to remove his shirt, no doubt intending to use it to vainly staunch the bleeding. Cleo, with all her remaining strength, moves a hand to stop him, squeezing his wrist even as the action sends another jolt of pain through her chest.

“Don’t," she breathes out, much too tired to make her voice louder. “It’s not going to help anymore.”

“I’m sorry," Impulse whispers in turn, closing his eyes and clenching his fist, as though being unable to see Cleo would mean she is not hurt. His tears mix with her blood, staining his shorts yet he doesn’t care. “If only I didn’t slow you down, if I had just been more attentive-“

“Hey hey hey,” she interrupts, a flicker of her normally upbeat voice seeping into her tone, reminding her of when she would act like a disappointed teacher to Impulse. “Don’t you think this is your fault alright? It’s not your fault, it’s not mine. It’s…” She looks beyond her to see the pale and still-shocked face of her attacker. In another life maybe they could have been friends, but this world pushed for them to be on opposite ends of a battle. “It’s not any of our faults, so don’t go blaming yourself alright?” She reaches her right hand to wipe at the tears coming down Impulse’s face, the action only making her smear blood all over his cheek. Unbothered, he pushes his face closer to the hand, chasing her fading warmth.

“You need to go.” Her voice drops back to a whisper, her outstretched arm feeling heavy. “There might still be others lurking. Find somewhere safe, please.” She lets her arm drop, feeling her eyelids tempted to the same. She can’t just yet though, not when Impulse still looks so unsure, still looks with hope that she can be saved. If anyone deserves to make it out of this, it’s him. “Please, Impulse, go. For both of us.”

Impulse lets out a sob, wrapping his arms around her as best as he can without aggravating her wounds, not that it mattered anymore. “Please Cleo, don’t leave me, I can’t do this without you, _I can’t_ ," he babbles, burying his face into her hair and trying to ignore the metallic scent still wafting through the air. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _don’t leave me,_ ” he cries out, and Cleo closes her eyes at the sheer agony in his voice. God, she hates doing this to him, but he has to go, so she weakly pushes him away, his body complying and moving back. 

She tries to smile at him but it comes out more as a grimace, and she struggles to find the correct words to say. “You have no choice. Please, I need to see at least one person make it out.” Her voice turns pleading, a far cry from the confident facade she’s always placed even when she was beaten down by life. Cleo was so unused to pleading, so unused to begging, yet she has no choice. “Please don’t let me die in vain Impulse, please.” 

Impulse grits his teeth, back straightening as he looks for something, anything in Cleo’s eyes. He doesn’t seem to find it as his body slumps forward, inching slightly closer to place a small kiss on Cleo’s too-cool forehead.

“I love you, I’m sorry,” he whispers before he stands up and runs away, his body shaking as he does so. Cleo watches his retreating form until her eyelids finally slide shut, and she floats away to the sound of his footsteps against leaves and branches. She lets the darkness envelop her and thinks of the stern words she’s going to say once she meets Death.

Except she never gets to say them. Instead, after what feels like an eternity in the darkness she feels a warm, pleasant feeling start running through her, hears the soft crackle of wood burning, and can smell some kind of meat cooking near her. She opens her eyes with a strangled gasp, sitting upright even as her body protests at the movement. Her eyes look wildly around, disoriented yet highly focused. There's a campfire in front of her with a cauldron hanging above, containing some kind of stew. There's another person in front of her, red eyes immediately telling her that he's not quite human. She tries to stand up but her legs fail her, sending her crashing down and barely avoiding the hot coals of the fire.

"You probably shouldn't move too much," the man tells her as he approaches, voice holding a distinct southern twang. He kneels beside her, helping her to sit up against a nearby tree.

"Who are you?" she asks, voice coming out weaker than she wished. "Where are we?"

The man pushes his glasses up, staring at her with a curious gaze. "Well, we're somewhere in the forest, that's for sure." He raises an eyebrow at the way she looks around. "I'm guessing you know as much as I do."

"What do you know?" Cleo rasps out as a dizzy spell suddenly hits her and her senses heighten further, leaving her reeling from all the stimuli she's experiencing.

The man's lips quirk upwards in the beginning of a smile. "Not much," he answers before turning around, approaching the pot and grabbing a ladle and a bowl from a sack placed nearby, grabbing a spoon-full of stew into the bowl. He places it near her and only then does she realize how hungry she is, how starving she feels. She licks her lips and swats away the idea of this man poisoning her, that is until her tongue meets something sharp in the inside of her mouth.

_No._

"I know this ain't much," the man who Cleo should really ask the name of speaks up as he ladles another helping of soup, presumably for himself. "If you need blood, I'm sure we can find a human willing to donate blood somewhere."

Cleo freezes, placing her bowl down on her lap and making sure it doesn't spill anywhere. "Why would I need blood?" she slowly asks, even if she already knows the answer. Her memories come flooding back and she knows what this man means, but she still desperately wants to be proven wrong.

He turns around, looking questioningly at her, observing her before his eyes soften just a tad bit. "Oh, you must not remember. You're a vampire now, I encountered you while you were in the middle of turning." His nose scrunches up in confusion. "It's surprising you still turned, considering the state you were in." He shakes his head before grabbing his bowl of soup and moving to sit beside her.

Her eyes are wide as she processes the man's words. Hesitantly she opens her mouth and lets her tongue run along her teeth, feeling the telltale point of fangs where her normal canines used to be.

"H-how?" she somehow gets out, sounding pained. "I-I lost too much blood, I should have died." She turns to her new companion, hoping he would have an answer but he merely shakes his head.

"I ain't sure myself." He takes a sip from his bowl, letting out a heavy sigh. "All I know is that, if you did die, it probably affected your turning."

"What do you mean?" she asks, still dazed. She looks down and has to hold back a scream when she notices the giant gash on her stomach where the sharp stick had pierced her, and in the moonlight she can see her skin is a sickening shade of green, with blueish lines running through it, making it look more like marble than flesh. 

She doesn't notice the man standing up until he stands in front of her with a piece of glass in his hand. She shakily accepts it when he hands it to her, and when she looks at it she's met with something out of her nightmares

Four pairs of red eyes, her eyes, stare at her, looking more beady than anything. There are a pair of what seems to be mandibles coming out of the corners of her mouth. She looks like a spider.

She is a spider, or at the very least a spider hybrid, and the only way to be a hybrid is to be a vampire. 

A sudden hand on her shoulder causes her to jerk up suddenly, the mirror falling out of her grasp and into her bowl, some of the stew spilling onto her lap. She winces both at the scalding heat of the stew, as well as the fact that she's not quite human anymore.

"It's ok to be sad." The man's voice breaks through to her, ringing clearly throughout his makeshift campsite. "You seem scared and that's alright too."

Despite herself she snorts, shaking her head as she fishes the mirror out of her bowl. "I ain't scared. Just...pissed and confused mostly," she whispers, staring into her food as though it might contain the answers she's looking for. "All that escaping for nothing-"

She suddenly sits straighter than before, gasping as her legs move in surprise, causing the bowl to completely tip over and spill its contents into the dirt.

"Did you encounter anyone named Impulse? Messy brown hair, black shirt, khaki shorts?" she urgently asks. She needs to know if he survived, needs to know if he escaped. She's ok with losing her humanity as long as he kept his, as long as someone, anyone, kept theirs.

The man's lips tighten into a tense line. "I haven't encountered anyone with such a name in my travels. Which reminds me-" He looks straight at her, his crimson eyes glowing with warmth even as his back is to the fire. "What moniker would someone such as yourself wish for me to use?"

She blinks at his question, mind sluggishly processing the wordy way it was phrased. "Cleo," she tells him once she's sure he's asking for her name. She seems to have gotten it right as the man smiles and nods. 

"Name's Joe Hills," he says, picking up her overturned bowl to refill it. "Now you, Miss Cleo, should eat. You're green enough as is."

Cleo lets out a small huff that could have passed for a laugh as she holds the reheated bowl in her hands. She takes a sip of the broth, trying to avoid her mandibles, and is relieved when she successfully has her first bite of food without making more of a mess. The two eat in silence, Joe making sure to refill her bowl when it was empty, which she is grateful for. She is absolutely starving, and though she still feels an urge she desperately tries to ignore, the delicious and heartwarming stew was more than enough to satisfy her.

"I'm still confused about what happened to me," Cleo admits out of nowhere once both of their bowls have been cleaned up. "I've never heard of someone turning and ending up with green skin."

Joe hums, putting the bowls back in his sack and coming back with two blankets and pillows. He hands one set to her, and she adjusts her position so that she can lie down on her back. Her flesh seems more fragile, like it could break at any moment, but at this point she's just grateful to be given the chance to rest.

"Neither have I," Joe responds, mirroring her position. "I'm sure we can encounter someone who would know what to do, however." He lifts his head up from where it was resting against his pillow and looks straight at Cleo. "That is, if you'd like to continue travelling with me."

The question in his words was obvious, and Cleo hums as she thinks of her answer. She clearly has nowhere to turn, and with her monstrous appearance she can tell people would be hesitant to accept her. Joe however, not only accepted her, but he cared for her even when she was unconscious, and something about the way his eyes twinkled made him seem more human, even if the red offsets it. 

"Well, might as well stick with you," Cleo says, attempting to sound casual. "Might be my only choice."

Joe sees right through her fake nonchalance and grins before moving to sleep.

"Well, good night then Cleo! May your dreams be filled with fantasy," he says, and though Cleo doubts her dreams will be as good as Joe hopes them to be, she allows herself to fall asleep by the fire, listening to the quiet of the woods.

The two travel together for a few months, with Cleo surprising Joe at the amount of control she seems to possess over her instincts. She was nearly driven to frenzy many times, but Joe always made sure to stop her before she could do any lasting damage.

The places she and Joe visited left her in awe, and it made her realize just how much she missed out on being kept as a bloodbag for most of her life. The landscapes made her fingers itch to find some clay to start sculpting something to match the earth's natural beauty. Society might be collapsing, but the scenery of vines twisting over collapsed and crumbled concrete buildings filled her with a morbid curiosity.

Joe made everything better as well. Although he was more eccentric than other figures she'd encountered before, she found herself endeared to the man's odd habit of spouting random bits of poetry in the middle of casual conversation. In fact, she often found herself falling asleep to him reciting Shakespeare's sonnets from memory. His presence warmed her, even if she often playfully argues with him and threatens to break his legs.

Now they were travelling towards the ocean, approaching a seemingly friendly village. They were looking to spend the night here instead of the woods. They approach a stern looking guard with goggles on her head. 

"Howdy there!" Joe greets, stopped only when the blond guard levels her sword at him. "Woah there!"

"Why are you here, vampires?" she asks, ruby-red eyes looking them up and down. She tightens the grip on her sword and levels it at Cleo instead, taking note of her oddly coloured skin.

"You say that as if you aren't a vamp yourself," Cleo mutters and the woman only places the sword closer, right over her heart. She glares right at Cleo, and she stares right back, not wanting to submit to her.

"We don't mean any harm." Joe tries to break the tension, standing behind Cleo to start not-so-subtly start pulling her away. "We just want a place to rest for the night, that's all."

"Place is full," the guard replies flatly, methodically stepping back to sheathe her sword. "No space for vampires here."

"Come on False." Another man in armor approaches them with red eyes and white dog ears on his head. Cleo winces at the memory of the vampire that turned her, but she quickly pushes that aside. "They're trustworthy people, I can vouch for that. I know there's room for them somewhere." He smiles almost shyly, waving in their direction. "Nice to see you again, Joe."

Both Cleo and False raise their eyebrows, Cleo's directed towards Joe. Joe tilts his head with a confused smile of his own. "It's mighty nice to see you too xB, although I didn't expect to find you this far away from your city."

xB's smile strains the tiniest bit. "It's a long story." He waves him off before turning to False and placing a hand on her shoulder. "They're not gonna hurt anyone, I swear," he assures her, making sure to keep his voice soft.

False scoffs and swats his hand away. "Fine, but you're in charge of them," she scowls, eyeing Cleo one last time before moving away to let them pass. "Well?"

Cleo ignores her barely hidden snarl and walks with Joe towards xB. "How do you know him?" she asks Joe, who smiles.

"Met him in one of the sanctuary cities I travelled to. Very nice fellow." He directs the last part to xB who blushes.

"Aw shucks, thanks Joe," he chuckles, extending a hand towards Cleo. "It's great to meet you Miss…?"

"Cleo," she tells him, returning his smile and his handshake. "No need to call me miss or anything like that."

"If I may ask, what animal do you transform into?" xB asks as he leads them around the coastal village, introducing them to some of the villagers who eye them, especially Cleo, warily but still smile when they wave back. "I haven't encountered a vampire whose skin transforms into a different color."

Cleo frowns at the question, knowing it was going to come up. "I transform into a spider, actually." She shrugs. "Never understood why it made my skin turn all green and marble-like."

xB looks at her, partly in shock and partly in curiosity. "Interesting," he mutters, scratching his beard. "Well, I can always bring you to Xisuma," he murmurs, to Cleo's confusion.

"Who's that?" she asks, seeing Joe seem as confused as she is.

"He's the leader of the group that watches over this village. I've allied with him for–" he pauses, eyes narrowing as though remembering a bad memory, "–personal reasons. He has a group of scientists who might be able to figure out what happened to you."

"Would he want to help me?" Cleo questions, confounded by the idea of someone willing to help her. She was a freak, even by vampire standards, and everyone was wary of her to some extent. Everyone except Joe, that is.

"I'm sure he would. He doesn't turn anyone who needs help away," he assures her, giving both of them a small smile.

"Well he certainly seems like a nice guy." Joe grins, grabbing Cleo's hand to give it a small squeeze. "If you could take us to him that would be great!"

Both xB and Cleo chuckle at Joe's enthusiasm. "Tomorrow, then." They stop in front of an elderly villager who seems to be cleaning her front porch. "Good afternoon Miss Yana!" he greets her, and she looks up with a smile. Her eyes flicker briefly towards Cleo and Joe but they quickly refocus on xB.

"Good afternoon xB." She greets back before gesturing to the two newcomers. "They'll be staying the night here I presume?"

Joe answers before xB can. "That is our plan madame, if your village would accept us."

The woman chuckles. "How polite," she comments before scratching the top of her forehead. "My name is Yana, one of the village leaders. It's a pleasure to meet the two of you." She places her broom to the side and looks at the two with a warm smile. "You can stay here in this hut for the night, it's already cleaned up in case someone like you stumbles by."

"Thank you ma'am!" Joe happily thanks her, much to everyone else's amusement. 

"I should go back to my post," xB excuses himself. "I'll meet y'all here tomorrow morning at around 9. See you guys!" He waves before walking away.

"Thank you xB!" Cleo calls out after him before turning to Miss Yana who watches her in fascination.

"If I may ask ma'am, did anyone by the name of Impulse pass by here?" Cleo asks, as she usually does in every town they come across. Until now, she keeps hope that Impulse survived, and any bit of news about him would be enough to soothe her fears about him. Normally these questions go unanswered, but something in the way Yana's eyes soften tells her that she will get something out of this conversation this time.

"Can you describe him for me dear?" She asks, voice quiet as though she's trying to recall something.

"Uh, he has messy brown hair, black shirt and tan khaki shorts." Cleo answers with the last thing she recalls seeing him in, stomach sinking as Yana's lips turn into a frown.

"Were you close with him?" she questions, to which Cleo nods. She heavily sighs, looking pained. "Oh I'm so sorry dear."

Cleo holds her breath, ignoring the way Joe's eyes narrow as they look at her. Everything feels numb, and she can't quite believe the implication of the sentence she just heard.

"W-what happened to him?" she asks, her voice wavering. Joe once again grabs her hand and she squeezes it tight, perhaps too tight if Joe's wince was anything to go by. Surely nothing bad could have happened, maybe he just left the village before she arrived.

"The ocean is a dangerous place for humans like us," Yana begins, tilting her head in the direction of the shoreline. "For many years, before Lord Xisuma's clan came to help us, we lived in fear of a pod of sirens who have claimed the waters as their playing grounds." She frowns and bites the inside of her cheek, her eyes darkening in the slightest. "We used to be a fishing village before we took up farming, and some folks were desperate to continue that way of life. To do so, they needed to please the sirens in some way, oftentimes in the form of a sacrifice."

She stops when Cleo takes a sharp breath of air, her hands trembling and chest tightening. She didn't like where this was going, not at all. 

Yana looks at her with pity, which would normally piss her off if not for the panic slowly rising up her throat.

"We always warn travellers to be careful, to not accept invitations to go into the ocean. Those who accept end up being given to the sirens in exchange for a fisherman's safe passage through the waters. Unfortunately, your friend did not listen to us, and he most likely paid for it with his life. The fisherman he went with returned, but he did not," she whispers the last part in reverence, as though she was paying respect to the dead.

Cleo finds herself unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to feel. She doesn't notice Joe talking to Yana, nor does she notice being herded into the hut. When the door shuts softly behind her, she slumps down the wall, ignoring the way her skin breaks open to make way for her mandibles. 

Joe is kneeling in front of her, mouth moving with words she can't exactly comprehend. His face becomes blurry, and when Cleo raises her hand to one of her new pairs of eyes, she's surprised to feel something wet drip down her fingers.

"I'm crying," she whispers in awe, blinking rapidly so that the hot tears slide down her face. She hasn't cried in so long, not even as a bloodbag. In the beginning, she had no need to, being treated well enough by the clan. When the clan became crueler, she realized that crying would not help her, and would actually harm her already precarious situation. She didn't cry when she woke up turned, and even if she was close to doing so, she didn't cry when she was on the verge of dying. Now however, hearing that Impulse died, hearing that he died to _sirens_ of all things, seemed to break the walls she placed up, even subconsciously.

She broke her promise to keep his fire burning, to keep him secure. When she convinced him to help her plan an escape, she told him he'd be safe, told him that he'd be free and now she knows how much of a lie that was. The escape was in vain, she heard of what happened to those who were caught, knew how much more horrible they're being treated, yet she held back her guilt with the hope that at least Impulse would be ok. Except he wasn't, which meant that she failed.

"Cleo?" Joe asks, finally getting her to look straight at him. Joe, who took care of her despite being a monster in every sense. It's just Joe, and not Impulse with her because she _failed_ him; she messed up badly and now she wouldn't even get to apologize to him.

Joe wraps his arms around her and she breaks, letting out a sob that sounds so foreign to her. She screams out for all those she's condemned to suffer, for all those she killed. She cries and begs for forgiveness from people who are no longer around to listen, from people who are too broken to answer. She shouts and wails and bawls, and when her throat gets too dry she whimpers and whispers and croaks, knowing how useless her tears are now.

Just what had she done?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed :))


End file.
